


I Want to Break Free

by TiaLewise



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale says "no swerfs on my turf", Fluff and Crack, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Pole Dancing, Post-Canon, implied car sex, newt's birthday, strip club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 10:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19926460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaLewise/pseuds/TiaLewise
Summary: From reluctant associates to faithful companions, friends to lovers - six-thousand years together is a good indication that little in the world will surprise you.Yet somehow, here is one Anthony J Crowley, upside down on a pole, and wearing leather pants.





	I Want to Break Free

Aziraphale looked for all the world like a child in a confectionery store - or a man-shaped creature in a strip club - as he clapped his hands and beamed at his surroundings. Bright neon lights flashed amidst stage fog and the roll of revelling bodies, not quite the content silence of a Soho bookshop, but angels were made to love, and he felt it as such. "Oh, this is simply _delightful._ I must confess I haven't been to a club since...oh, heavens, has it been that long? I don't remember!"

"I wasn't sure if it would be your thing," Newt admitted, "But Anathema said invite you along anyway.[1] Oh, more wine?"

"Dear boy, you _spoil_ me, and on _your_ birthday, no less." Aziraphale held out his empty glass, allowing Newt to top it up. "And now I would be most interested in finding out your reasoning for my possible dislike."

The young man twitched his nose, only resulting in his glasses sliding down further. "Well, I mean...it's a...well, not exactly the epitome of holy activities...this is the sort of thing you lot smite, isn't it?"

The angel sipped his wine, chuckling into the glass. "Not an unreasonable assumption, but I must admit, our current "activities" were one of Heaven's better ideas."

"Eh?" A shift to Aziraphale's left, and Crowley made his presence known at long last, having been remarkably quiet until then. He wore a befuddled frown behind his sunglasses, reflecting the copious amount of wine in his system. "S'your idea? What was?"

"Female empowerment! Autonomy! Liberation!" Aziraphale raised his glass in a toast - he was a tad tipsy himself. "Take a look around you, dear boy, it's everywhere. Golly, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It's like being in Tadfield again, all that love in the air…"

Crowley stared at Aziraphale as though he had grown a second head. "You’re not telling me _Heaven_ gave us strip clubs?" 

“Oh, yes. _Someone_ had to make a dent in the silliness that is human patriarchy.”

“Well, I’ll be twice-damned.” Crowley made a roundabout gesture with his hand towards a dancer currently lifting herself into a Jade.[2] "Anyway, I reckon I could do all that. All the pole stuff. Swing around a bit, stretch a leg, yeah, can't be that hard."

"You’re wearing leather trousers, darling," Aziraphale pointed out, "and these girls are rather, ah, flexible…"

"Sssayin' I can't do it, angel?" Crowley wiggled his eyebrows.

"I never said that -" Aziraphale blustered, and in the time it took to stumble through those four words, Crowley had slammed down his glass, swayed to his feet, and flicked his fingers in the direction of the nearest dancer. _"Crowley!_ Get back here!" Aziraphale called, exasperated, even as the demon sauntered towards the podium. He gave the now-vacant and giggling dancer a high-five as he passed her. 

"What did I miss?" Anathema, hair a mess and glasses askew, slid back into her seat on Newt's other side. He pointed, and she smirked. "Ah."

"Bet Agnes didn't predict this."

“Difficult to say,” shrugged Anathema, “since we burned the second book of prophecies and all.”

“Was that a good idea?”

“Judging by ‘Zira’s face, yes.”

Newt sighed. “I meant the book.”

“Oh! Of course. I suppose I'm rather distracted right now."

So was Aziraphale. Distracted, I mean. Not laughing. No, laughing ended up being the furthest thing from his mind. 

Crowley had grabbed the pole without so much as an "okay, where do we start," and swung up into an effortless climb that had to involve several timely miracles,[3] considering those aforementioned leather pants. The slim metal pillar spun slowly, bringing the demon into a less-than-graceful arc, but he held tight, and flipped himself upside down, holding on with just his ankles and thighs.

Anathema was clapping her hands, bellowing with raucous laughter. Newt didn't seem to know where to look.

Aziraphale could only look at Crowley. Transfixed, one might have said.

"Whaddya think, angel?" Crowley called down. Somehow his sunglasses had stayed on, but the devilish glitter in his eyes could surely be seen from the Gates of Heaven, if ever they felt the need to look. 

Aziraphale blinked, shook his head as he reached for his wine. "V-V...Very impressive, m-my dear."

Crowley flipped back the right way up and slid down slowly. After watching the other girls a moment, that sinfully tight ass and slender hips began to sway in a faltering rhythm, only just matching the thudding beat of the music overhead. He turned, tossed back a cascade of auburn curls, and ran a hand through them while he took slow steps around the pole. 

He lacked a dancer's finesse, but it was his agility, his strength, that had Aziraphale slightly hot under the collar. No stranger was he to the enjoyment of exotic dancing - many an exclusive club had been frequented by Mr A.Z. Fell over the years - and he had seen many of them come and go, but this...seeing them and _seeing_ Crowley…the demon was temptation incarnate for all those who crossed his path. Nobody was safe from his aura.

Aziraphale drained his wine, suddenly consumed with the urge to giggle uncontrollably. 

The music faded out, faded back in with another song - Crowley gave a bark of laughter and whipped off his sunglasses, fully in his element. Be-bop it was not, but Aziraphale rather prided himself on recognising Queen these days.

"Oh, no, they've set him off," Newt groaned.

"Bold of you to assume he didn't make this happen himself." Anathema helped herself to Newt's wine.[4]

  


_I've fallen in love for the first time_

_And this time I know it's for real_

_  
_

Crowley blew a kiss in Aziraphale's direction and winked at him. The angel blushed, unable to control the red fluid in his veins for once - and it was pooling downwards as well as suffusing his cheeks. He hoped he was discreet as he crossed his legs carefully. Why, oh why, had he decided to put something in his trousers tonight? It wasn’t like he _used_ it all that often…

Oh, but the way Crowley’s eyes bore into him as he spun pretty shapes around the pole said that he’d be using it _very soon._

Physical intimacy was few and far between for them, if only because the actual effort was rather damp, and clumsy, and required a lot of cleaning up afterwards. In any case, six-thousand years as companions had given them so much more than the base desires their human shapes sometimes felt. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing; Aziraphale still enjoyed a good tumble between the sheets with his favourite demon on an occasion...or tumble into the nearby cloakroom, judging by the aching and swelling in his trousers. 

_  
_

_I can't get over the way you love me like you do_

_  
_

Oh, yes, the feeling was mutual. They’d seen every facet of each other - the gentle smiles when they thought the other wasn’t looking; the screaming of anger; the sobbing of nightmares; grief and joy and everything in between. Yet still there was always that little shred of disbelief, that they had made it this far...for Heaven and Hell to have left them alone, left them to fully embrace the love that had connected them since the dawn of time. It was unheard of, for an angel and a demon to connect so - but they had done it. Yes, they had done it.

And as Crowley finished his impromptu routine, slipping away from the podium with a thin sheen of sweat on his moon-pale skin, Aziraphale thanked all Above and Below that they had been given this chance.

“Think I need more wine after that.” Crowley flopped back into his seat, grinning.

Aziraphale poured for him, making only half-disapproving tutting noises. “You wily old serpent. I should have remembered you never back down from a challenge.”

“Damn right I don’t. ‘Specially when it gets you all flustered -” Crowley pecked Aziraphale on the cheek and winked – “or are you forgetting I can taste the sins in the air, too? Your lust is _deliciousss.”_

Aziraphale made a halting noise in his throat, glancing at Newt and Anathema who were otherwise occupied. Then he drew himself up straighter and met Crowley’s scintillating, slightly unfocused gaze. “Finish that glass, my dear, and meet me in the Bentley in five minutes.”

Smirking, Crowley drained the glass in five seconds. “Go – Sata- ah, blast it all. I love you, angel.”

Aziraphale would have replied, but he was too busy pulling Crowley to his feet and heading for the exit.

✞♡✞

_[1] She had left for the dancefloor some time ago, and Aziraphale had deduced that while neither she nor her new dance partner knew how to gavotte, they could however engage in a spot of ballroom upon two left feet. Charming, really, when he thought about it._

_ [2] Commonly described by those in the profession as an upside-down split on the pole, and affectionately referred to as "the timely reminder that you didn't get that bikini wax this month."_

_[3] And his freakishly snake-like ability to wrap himself around pretty much anything. Handy for terrifying his plants on a lazy day, and for...well, Aziraphale would blush and start to stutter if I told you._

_[4] Crowley had met Farrokh Bulsara, AKA Freddie Mercury, at some fancy gala back in the 70s. Humans were fascinating creatures, but Freddie was something else entirely - and by that, Crowley meant the man had a personality that wasn't akin to one of Hastur's toads. The night Freddie passed away, Crowley had celebrated his life by driving to Manchester’s Canal Street and getting thoroughly wankered, before crying himself to sleep on Manto’s balcony as he waited for a sympathetic Aziraphale to pick him up and take him home._

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